


Heading Straight For the Castle

by OnceABlueMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Aromantic Charlie Weasley, Asexual Charlie Weasley, Auld Magic, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, F/M, Growing Up, Illustrated, Imprisonment, Nobility, Poetry, Romance, Royalty, Story teller, Strong Ginny, The Power He Knows Not, The Sword in the Stone, The fairest of them all, The poetry accompanies the story, Usurper, names have power, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceABlueMoon/pseuds/OnceABlueMoon
Summary: Ginny is forced into a betrothal with the Dark King, Voldemort, but her defiance lands her in the dungeons. Her cellmate, a green-eyed storyteller, is nameless in a world where names have power. As he spins tales shrouded in mystery, old secrets are uncovered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

_‘’Oho, oho,_

_The lord shall have seven sons, it’s so!_

_He will be grand, the best of the land,_

_The seventh son of the seventh son,_

_Gifted with magic, the blessed one,_

_To serve the king will be his fate,_

_The seventh son, we await.’’_

_The halls inhabitants cheered and raised their goblets._

_‘’To the seventh son of the seventh son, so lord Weasley may flourish!’’_

_They drunk to that, cheeks flushed and breathless._

_It was hearty inside the hall- mead flowed freely and songs were sung, the scullery maids laughing and making their way through the crowd carrying plates. The children had long since fallen asleep on their mother’s laps. The Weasley heir, William, and his brother Charlie, though, were still playing with the dogs. It was a game- how close could they come before the dogs snapped at them? And who could snatch their fingers away quickly enough to save them from the canines glinting in the firelight?_

_It was a wonderful game filled with their boyish delight and a lot of shushing and giggling was involved- as long as their mother didn’t notice, they would be able to play it._

_The doors were thrown open, and everyone fell quiet. A draft came through. It was in the middle of the night and the fields had been covered in snow for days. The frost was early that year, but these were the lands of lord Weasley. Nobody here would be cold as long as his lady lived._

_The man who stumbled into the hall fell to his knees, breathing hard and shivering, his clothing drenched. Lady Weasley gasped. ‘’Herald Diggle! Oh, you poor man, let’s put you in front of the fire to dry!’’_

_Herald Diggle shook his head as he found the breath to utter his message._

_‘’The usurper reigns!’’_

* * *

Bill and Charlie must have told her about that night at least a thousand times, but Ginny didn’t mind hearing it again.

 ‘’Pa and ma wanted to go to war with the Dark King. But they didn’t, because you were in mom’s stomach. The Weasley’s bear only sons, after all, and you have six strapping lads like us as brothers. You, Gin,’’ Bill leaned forward and bopped her nose, Ginny’s eyes widening, ‘’are the first daughter born to the noble house of Weasley _ever_. Everyone thought you would be a boy, the seventh son of a seventh son. Such blessed child is vulnerable to magic as black as the Dark King’s. ‘’

Charlie nodded. ‘’It was different back then. There were no witch trials, for one. The Dark King murders all those who have more power than he. The King and Queen were his first victims, that’s all.’’

‘’And the prince!’’ Ginny cheered, tugging on Bill’s sleeves. ‘’Tell me about the prince again!’’

‘’All right, all right,’’ he laughed and began his tale anew.

* * *

Ginny loved stories. Loved them like her mother’s cooking, her father’s smiles, and her brother’s jokes. She would even say she loved them more than horses, but she wasn’t sure if that was actually true. It was a hard choice, between tales that took her to places she had never seen, and the huge animals in the stables, that ran like the wind and carried her anywhere she wanted to go.

The horse she liked the most was one of Charlies. All the horses were Charlie’s actually, even if her father’s name was on the papers pertaining them. Charlie liked horses too. More than women, in fact. Their mother despaired a great deal about it.

‘’I will never have grandchildren this way!’’ she wailed when she thought Ginny was playing with her dolls in the drawing room. In truth, she’d snuck into the study to take some of her father’s biscuits- he always pretended he didn’t see if she took one.

She scaled the closet side and perched on top when she heard her mother’s footsteps in the hallway.

Her father peered over the staples of paper in front of him, blinking at her. ‘’We have six sons and one daughter, Mollycoddles,’’ he said, befuddled. ‘’I don’t think we are going to be short on grandchildren.’’

‘’But what if…’’ Molly sat down on the sofa, sighed and rested her cheek on her hand. ‘’I just want him to be happy, Arthur.’’

Her father smiled- his eyes gentle. ‘’Then let him manage the stables.’’

‘’If you’re sure it’s for the best.’’

And that was the end of it.

* * *

Jinx was the name of Ginny’s favorite horse. She was brown and big. Ginny’s favorite character was the Prince.

‘’But the difference between the Prince and Jinx,’’ she said earnestly to Percy, ‘’Is that Jinx is real and the Prince is not. So I should like Jinx more.’’

Percy frowned. ‘’Ginny, the Prince _is_ real. Or was, I guess.’’

Ginny stomped her foot, hands on her hips, staring up at Percy. He was towering- even taller than the stove! Did he see everything like she did when she looked out the window of the castle’s highest tower? Not the time for that question. Because she was mad, and when she mad, _everything_ was smaller than her.  ‘’No, he _isn’t_! Mum said people in stories are charkters and charkters are not real!’’

‘’Char _a_ cters,’’ he said looking down at her, ‘’are mostly fictional, yes, but sometimes stories are told about events that actually happened. For example, the royal family’s murder and how the news reached us during your birth announcement.’’

Ginny glared at him, stuck out her tongue and sprinted away.

She burst into the kitchen, where her mother was stirring soup, her hair gathered neatly into a bun and an apron tied around her neck. ‘’Muuuuuum! Percy said the Prince is real!’’

Her mother smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘’Of course he was, darling.’’

Ginny’s mouth fell open and clutched her chest. If the Prince was real, then… The story’s ending. Her lips quivered. ‘’Does that mean he’s really dead?’’

Her mother covered her mouth with her hand and tugged her into her arms. ‘’Oh, honey.’’

* * *

Ginny cried for days. The Prince had been a real boy, a baby, sweet and bright and everything good. He was dead.

On the seventh day, she stopped. She had exhausted every single tear her body possessed. She felt empty. She knew she was sad. Her heart still ached at the thought of the little Prince. But the years went by, and she grew up. And with every Summer that passed, she became more beautiful.

 

_‘’Hair like a flame, red as the blood in our veins,_

_The girl has many a heart in chains,_

_Her eyes the brownest in all of the south,_

_The lass does not lack a strong mouth!_

_Skin of porcelain, freckles the stars in the sky,_

_Her spirit is ablaze, that none will deny,_

_The seventh child, the only daughter,_

_Of the seventh son, the lord of the water,_

_Ginevra Weasley, oh, fate did befall,_

_Is the fairest, the fairest, of them all.’’_

A beauty worthy of a crown- And indeed, on her fifteenth birthday, the Dark King send for her.

‘’The hell he’s getting my sister!’’ Ron shouted at the messenger- Fred and George sporting vicious smiles, Percy frowning, Charlie clenching his jaw, and Bill trying to stand in front of Ginny as if to hide her.

Ginny decided there would be time for emotional turmoil later and shoved her brothers aside.

‘’Are you out of your mind, you nitwits?!’’ she said, hands on her hips, ‘’I’m capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much!’’

‘’But Ginny!’’ Ron said, ‘’The King wants to take you away!’’

Ginny crossed her arms and glared at him. ‘’I’m aware of that, Ronald Bilius Weasley. But let’s face it: the Dark King has an army, and we do not. I’m not letting him tear apart my family. I love you too much, and besides, if I rejected him, he’d probably kill me on the spot too. We know his kind. There’s no use crying about it- I’m heading straight for the castle.’’

Her mother cried and embraced her. ‘’Oh, my girl, be careful.’’

Ginny smiled bitterly. ‘’I can’t promise anything.’’

Her father’s face was grave, and when she waved from the carriage window, her brother's heads were lowered.

She swallowed, her throat dry. But she had to do this. Her family was widely known as old reign supporters- one wrong move and the King would use it as an excuse to eliminate them. If she refused to marry him, it truly did mean war.

The carriage wheels whirred. She dug her nails into her skin.

 

_Six Weasley brothers in a row,_

_In the trees, the ravens crow._

_The fairest, the fairest of them all,_

_All her suitors do bawl,_

_Is in a case, no, a coffin,_

_The blow none can soften._

_Lost forever, not coming back,_

_Her mother wails, dressed in black,_

_And though the girl is white as starch,_

_She still lives during her funeral march._

* * *

The carriage kept driving throughout the night- not stopping once. It was as if the horses didn’t need water, food or rest. Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if the horses were illusion. The Dark King employed sorcerers- as long as they did not become more powerful than he.

On the seat across her was bread and a flask of wine wrapped in a shawl. She ate it when another night went by and they still weren’t stopping. Being confined to such a small space made her feel claustrophobic- like a bird in a cage, not to be shown to anyone but it’s owner, the door never left open for the fear of her flying away.

It was stupid- she wouldn’t try to escape. If she did, her family would suffer the consequences.

When she arrived at the court, they let her go to the bathroom to freshen up (she hadn’t been able to go for _two whole_ days) before they guided her to the throne room.

The curtains were heavy, but the huge windows allowed light to fall onto the stone floor. Ginny walked towards the King- Courtiers tittering and gossiping behind their fans. The ladies wore gowns laden with gems- which would have made Ginny uncomfortable in her own simple shift if they hadn’t looked ridiculous. They wore powdered wigs- few had hair long enough to wring into the court’s elaborate hairstyles. Their rouged cheeks and eyes lined with kohl were alien to Ginny, who came from the South, where only berry-juice painted lips in summer.

The men wore pantaloons so tight she had to call them leggings- a sight she truly hadn’t needed to see. Their jackets varied in color and design, but they all looked uniform and too bright with the gold and silver thread that appeared to be the latest trend.

And there he was- waiting for her. The Dark King, Lord Voldemort.

He was seated on a throne, arms strewn carelessly over the armrest, legs spread apart. It was dwarfed by his large frame. His skin was alabaster and chiseled and his jet-black hair was slicked back. His eyes were the color of wine, a clear sign of his favor for Auld Magic, and long dark lashes brushed against his cheeks when he blinked at her. The corner of his mouth curled up.

‘’Greetings, my future bride.’’

A gasp went through the room. The King frowned at the courtiers. ‘’What are you still doing here? Chop, chop, leave us!’’

He waved them away, too busy studying the girl-child to pay them any attention. The door fell closed behind them.

Ginny didn’t dare to glare at him, so she averted her eyes at the ground instead. But that felt like giving up, like _giving in,_ and fury bubbled up within her. It wasn’t in her nature to be obedient, and though the stakes were high, she could not betray herself.

So she looked up, her eyes boring into his, and refused to curtesy. ‘’So, your majesty, you like girls not yet of age?’’

Her smile was as vicious as it was false.

Maybe she should have been more agreeable- her life depended on it, after all. But there was something about the way this man’s eyes twinkled when looking at her defiance made her furious, and she could not stop herself from speaking up.

He chuckled, stood up and walked towards her, looming over her and invading her space. He was so close she wanted to scramble away. ‘’Oh, I won’t marry you for a few years yet.’’

Ginny eyed him sharply, but didn’t move a muscle when he circled her, before facing her again.

‘’You will indeed grow to be the fairest woman I’ve ever seen, Lady Ginevra,’’

She stayed silent. If words were to leave her lips, they would not be kind ones.

The King tapped his bottom lip. ‘’Beauty is a power on its own; that is why I want you. Having power over the one who has power is a power in itself. Next to that,’’ he said, tilting her chin up, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath, ‘’I absolutely delight in having power over fiery things like you. You struggle, it’s entertaining.’’

She slapped his hand away. ‘’I’m not a thing, child-killer.’’

He chuckled. ‘’Oh, but you will be, my dear, once I’m done with you.’’

 _I will break you,_ she could hear him say.

* * *

The dungeons were cold, but there were tiny chutes from which daylight could come inside.  There was some hay on the floor and a bucket in the corner, but that was it. The stone was hard, as were the iron bars curling around the cell. They formed swirls and arches, leaving no room for more than a finger to go through. The lock was invisible if you didn’t know where it was.

It was pretty, but it made Ginny want to hurl.

The twinkle in the King’s eyes as he threw her in there, mad glee ruling him, told her enough. _You match,_ they sang, _you and this cell, both pretty things._

He wanted to see how she would react to being locked up.

She stewed in her hatred of him of for a few days, but that was pretty exhausting, so she relaxed. Being alone was awful, though. The cell wasn’t great either, as far as cells go.  The hay was dirty already.

And Ginny knew her way around hay- Charlie taught her enough in the stables back home. God, she missed Jinx. And her family, of course. Fred and George would probably even be able to make a joke out of this.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one bored out of her mind, because the King discharged her from the prison with a genuinely disappointed expression. At least, it appeared to be genuine. Ginny didn’t take any chances with that man. He was far too prone to following whims, for all his bigger goals seemed to be set in stone.

He loved parading her around the court. Ginny didn’t pretend to like it, and the King reveled in the scandalous expressions the courtiers wore every time the girl scowled at him.

Even when she was not in his presence, he walked into her rooms at irregular times and never knocked. It made her feel like an animal in a zoo, constantly being gaped at, her space confined and invaded, no place safe from his eyes.

‘’I must say, your majesty, what a fine specimen you’ve acquired!’’ the blonde man said.

Ginny clenched her fist. God, if only this had happened back home! She would have _trashed_ them for talking about her like she was a dog.

‘’Indeed,’’ the man next to him drawled, ‘’But you do keep her on a tight leash, do you not?’’

The boy behind them, blond, resembling his father, approached her. Ginny glared, but he didn’t back off, a smug expression on his face as he took a lock of her hair and wound it around his finger.

‘’Red hair and an empty head, you must be a Weasley.’’ He yanked on the strand and laughed at her.

She didn’t take that well. He could insult her all he wanted- but he should keep his grubby paws off her family.

Spitting in his face was the most satisfying thing she had done in months.

* * *

She was thrown into a cell once again. It was a different one this time, and the only thing she managed to see before the door slammed shut, was a bed, a set of bars, and green eyes behind them- the barely visible body they belonged to stilling at the sight of her.  There were no chutes to let the sun in- it was completely dark.

‘’What is your purpose in life?’’ Her cellmate asked.

It was such a strange question, so out of place, that Ginny automatically answered.  ‘’Being as defiant as possible without it threatening my life or losing my family. But I guess I don’t know what the King will do next. And I can’t hold myself back when it comes to my family.’’

The stranger didn’t reply.

In an attempt to fill the silence, Ginny rambled on. ‘’That’s how I got here, actually. The Malfoy heir insulted my family, so I spit in his face. But then again, the bastard got twenty lashings for touching the future queen, so it was worth it.’’

The other chuckled. His voice was deep- a man, that much was obvious. ‘’That sounds like an interesting story.’’

‘’Hmm,’’ Ginny hummed and laid down on the cold floor, folding her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling, even though she couldn’t discern it.

Having company while imprisoned wasn’t all that bad.

‘’I’m Ginny.’’

‘’I’m a story-teller.’’

She laughed. ‘’No name?’’ 

‘’That’s a long story, actually.’’

Ginny’s lips parted- a grin on her face like she had been born with it. ‘’Tell me, please, Tale-spinner.’’

He did.

* * *

_In the days before the wild things were tamed, Auld Magic ruled. Unlike the magic of today, the Auld Magic was not something one was born with. It was the earth’s magic itself, the energy of life flowing through each of us.  All could tap into it, if only they were willing to learn._

_In this very Kingdom, sorcerers gathered. They shared knowledge and wisdom, and it was peaceful for many years. Until one day, a small boy named Arthur asked: ‘’But papa, who’s better at magic? Uncle, or the sorceress that lives around the corner?’’_

_His father did not know. So Arthur asked. When he did not receive an answer, he asked again and again and again, until everyone who had not been questioned had at least heard of it from another. They began to wonder. Who is the most powerful You or me? The baker or the miller? My daughter or my son?_

_They began to fight. It was a slaughter. Foes went to war, allies stabbed each other in the back, and even brothers turned on brothers. Blood flowed like a river. So many were killed that few sorcerers were left, but still, they kept fighting each other for the title of the greatest._

_But then he stood up. Arthur, the boy who started it all, had grown into a man and decided to rectify his mistake. Even if his life might be forfeit._

_So he stood upon a rock in the middle of the town, and shouted above the chaos:_

_‘’Stop this madness! If you go on like this, there will be no one left!’’ And something in his voice, the same characteristic that attracted their ears when he was a child, made them listen._

_‘’What will you have us do?’’ someone in the crowd shouted. ‘’Are you not the one who asked us who was the most powerful? We must know, boy! Otherwise, all this bloodshed will have been in vain!’’_

_‘’If you must know, I shall use the single gift of magic I possess!’’_

_Arthur raised his sword above his head and swung it down with one mighty heave- embedding it in the rock beneath him. He lifted his head, the sun creating a halo around his golden hair, and spoke: ‘’He who pulls this sword from the stone and anvil will be the rightful King of Magic, for he is the most powerful!’’_

_And every single person in the country tried, but none could pull the sword from the stone or break the enchantment Arthur had cast upon it. Weary of war, they crowned Arthur King._

_They departed from the Sword in the Stone, for it was there where the King of Magic’s throne would stand, and it would bear no other King in its place. And so, the region became known as the Dark Court, for no King had ever enlightened it with his rule._

* * *

His voice was hypnotizing, spinning images of far off places and adventures unknown.

‘’It’s a beautiful story,’’ was all she said, though, ‘’But it doesn’t explain why you do not possess a name.’’

She did not speak of how his eyes lighted up while he was spinning his tale. They did so literally; the viridian glow spreading across his face. She felt spellbound- not able to move as long as he spoke.

Now he was done, his luminous eyes were slowly losing their intensity- fading away into nothing.

It had to be his gift. That was the way magic worked nowadays- the New Magic was something one was born with, instead of learned like the Auld Magic. Every sorcerer was only granted a single gift- just as Arthur, the first King, had the gift to cast only one spell in his entire lifetime, but make it last forever.

‘’It doesn’t reveal the issue of my name, no, but this is only the first of the many stories preceding my own.’’

Ginny shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘’I’m not opposed to listening.’’

She was casual about it- but she thirsted for another tale like she hadn’t ever since she found out the Prince had been real.

She was bewitched and didn’t mind at all.

* * *

The first time she felt the sunlight on her skin again, she couldn’t help but think of him. The green eyed story teller.  The King had taken her from dungeons and left her to her own devices, but the boy was still confined there.

  
She had forgotten how warm the sun could be while she was down there. Did he remember how it felt?

The King could take the sun from them by simply locking them up. In theory alone that was awful, but to be faced with the evidence of that reality? She shivered and hugged a pillow to her chest.

Half a year went by before the King imprisoned her in the same cell again.

* * *

"Oh," he said, "Wanted to hear the rest of the story?"  
  
She agreed, fiddling with the pendant around her neck, and watched his eyes illuminate the room- brighter every time he told a new tale. 

* * *

_In a little town in the North, all the way over the hills and the glen, lived two sorcerers. Both sharp of intellect and neither lacking charm. Indeed, they were good friends, despite being called Dark and Light. Names have power, and Dark and Light should have been opposites like their namesakes. They were in some ways, but not all. Their mothers often claimed the true quality of Dark and Light they possessed was their inability to overcome one another. For each step they set, the other took one just as big, just as small or just as important._

_Together, they traveled the country with a band of sorcerers. They were happy for many years, until they arrived at the Dark Court._

_Light gazed upon the stone.  ‘’I want to try to take the Sword.’’_

_Dark’s face drained of all blood. The one who took Sword from the stone would be most powerful of all. Dark and Light were meant to be in balance- there was no shadow without light and there was no day, without night. But in his eyes, Light had declared he wanted to be more powerful than Dark._

_He was leaving him behind, spitting on their years of friendship, and their sharing of teachings._

_He had no idea of the truth._

_Enraged, he roared and threw himself at Light, magic at ready. They battled where none were meant to battle- disturbing the eternal rest of those who died there eons ago._

_‘’Stop!’’ Light’s sister yelled, running towards them. ‘’Stop, you fools!’’_

_It was the last thing she ever said. A stray beam of magic hit her chest, and she fell down to her knees, hands grabbing her throat. A cough, some blood on her lips, and staring straight at Dark and her brother, she died._

_The sky darkened as the life left her eyes, her unintended murder seeping into the sacred ground. Lightning flashed, thunder followed and a curse rolled over the land- condemning the rule of Arthur’s line at the defilement._

_Shocked, Dark fled. And Light? Light carried his sister home, tears dripping down his face as he buried her next to their mother. He never stopped mourning her._

_The only magic he used from that day forth was his gift and he lived the rest of his life with his terrible guilt, not even knowing which one of them had killed her._

* * *

If names had power, then what did it mean that he was nameless?

* * *

"Does it bother you that you don't have a name?" She asked one day.

He laughed. ‘’You always ask the interesting questions! To be honest, it depends. Some days I can't help but hate it, because of how it came to be so. But I don't mind being known by my trade- and of all the things I can do, I like spinning tales the best." 

Every time she came back, he told her a new one.

  
She liked his eyes, his messy hair and knobby knees. He looked like a scarecrow. That, at least, was something she knew in the midst of the overwhelming, unfamiliar court. She loved the stories he told, but most of all, she just loved him. 

A boy who never saw the light of day, but chased the darkness away when she had to miss the light too.  
  
She longed to be in the cell when she returned to the court. 

* * *

When he began to talk, voice low, Ginny instantly knew something was wrong.  
  
The story-teller refused to narrate for her this time. He resisted for three days, but he couldn’t hold back in the end. He had to tell the stories inside his heart or he would burst.  
  
His eyes smoldered and Ginny saw the awful wound on his arm. She gritted her teeth. She let him speak, though, for this was his story, and he needed to tell it.

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a kingdom filled with magic. A grand king and queen ruled, the fields were overflowing with crops and nobody ever had to go hungry._

_But here is the thing: even when there is plenty to go around, there will always be people who refuse share and let others go hungry._

_To little Tom, this had always been evident. He was an orphan in a little town, where nobody had any kindness left for the hungry children on the streets._

_He despised nobility, who diverted their gaze when they spotted him on the roadside. Perhaps it was because of his piercing stare (‘’The devil’s gaze!’’ the matron had hissed when he sprouted from his mother’s lap), but Tom was certain their disdain originated from the fear of being faced with their own flaws. And Tom, with his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, represented many of those._

_Nevertheless, Tom’s mind worked faster than his hatred did, and he knew exactly how to school his face into a semblance of a smile. The only way not to be hungry was to work. The only way to work was if there were people willing to employ him. But charisma would not land him everywhere- skill was vital in all areas of life._

_He labored around town, but by the time he was seven, the apothecary commandeered his skills entirely. ‘’You have good eyes, my boy,’’ he’d say, putting a pastry in his mouth, ‘’I need a pair of those around on my old day.’’_

_Tom nodded and smiled while his stomach growled and he hated Slughorn with all his heart._

_But Slughorn was not only an apothecary- he was also an alchemist. A sorcerer who primarily used the four elements and mulled over transmutation. It was fascinating- and Tom did have splendid eyes indeed._

_Before a month went by, Tom was his apprentice._

_He was eleven when he was sent to the court. He was a rising star, a prodigy, a charming boy weaving magic into masterful spells like the ladies did with their tapestries. He had cold eyes, but still, the other children flocked around him, dancing to his tune. In control, Tom was happy._

_The power games, oh, the power games. No one was better at them than Tom, not even prince James. Politics were the blood in Tom’s veins, power rushing through his body in an endless waterfall of witchcraft and words._

_Tom’s joy did not last long._

_He was situated on the castle’s border when his misfortune made its entrance. The man was on horseback, trotting into the courtyard with his head held high, brown hair ruffled by the wind, looking down on all people present like he owned the place. Despite the distance, Tom knew those eyes. They were ice blue- like the heavens on the days the world froze over, when not even the smallest creatures could escape the frigid fingers of Death._

_It was like looking in the mirror._

_‘’Might I inquire to the name of the gentleman that just arrived?’’  he asked the steward as the man handed the reins over to the stable boy._

_‘’Lord Riddle, sir. Tom Riddle, actually. You share a name.’’_

_Oh, they shared more than that. A lot more._

_‘’How curious.’’_

* * *

_There was a huge difference between them the next morning, though._

_Tom was alive, but the man who sired him was not._

_The funeral was held the same day- and as they burned his body, the crowd gazing wistfully at the flames as if they would miss the departed, Tom’s blood boiled._

_‘’He was so kind,’’ they said, nodding along like the sheep they were._

_‘’He had a habit, though,’’ they whispered when they thought no one was listening in, ‘’A bad habit. He liked common women. Can you believe that? He lay with peasants! The idea! A lord, defiling himself!’’_

_Tom would know- after all, the man left his mother to die in the gutter, while her stomach was heavy with his child. He did not know much about the woman- she perished soon after his birth. This murder was not for her. Tom did it because he could._

_Good and evil did not exist, Tom decided. Only power._

_And if there was revenge for a youth spent star_ i _ving_ _involved, it didn’t matter anyway. Revenge already taken never mattered unless you were a victim- of guilt, or the revenge itself. Tom was neither._

_It was simple: the only thing needed for safety was to be the most powerful one of them all._

_His followers began to flock around him like his peers did before them. Together, they marched to the Dark Court. There, he strode toward the Stone and tore the Sword from the anvil. He raised it in the air, and declared: ‘’That Auld Magic may rule again! That is the word of the King of Magic!’’_

_For his ascension to the Dark Court’s throne, he changed his name. Tom became Lord Voldemort, the King of Magic._

_And while his followers rejoiced, the citizens were not happy about the return of Auld Magic at all. They had been taught from birth that it was an art that should be feared. They sought council by their own King, but he was of Arthur’s line and would not go back on his ancestors promise._

_So they scrutinized Lord Voldemort and called him the Dark King, for his intentions were as hair-raising as the massacre of yore._

* * *

‘’The story of our ruler,’’ It hung in the air between them.

‘’Yes,’’ the story-teller sighed, ‘’Seeing as I am here, it has to do with my own story.’’

Ginny glared at him because being imprisoned clearly wasn’t his only issue with the Dark King- the wound was still there, after all.

His eyes were shining, lighting up the entire room despite having finished his story already.

The story-teller put his head in his hands, inhaling deeply before looking up, straight into Ginny’s eyes, averting his gaze upon realizing they were still viridian miniature suns.

‘’Do you understand his actions now?’’

Ginny stared at her knees, the fabric of her dress dusty. ‘’Understanding why and forgiving them are two different things. I don’t forgive him. His actions were wrong, no matter what the reason for them might be. Hell, even his intentions weren’t good. I…’’

She looked at the wound on his arm. ‘’He hurt you. I _hate_ him for abusing those I love.’’

* * *

‘’ _Marry_ you?!’’

The King tutted, tapping his bottom lip. ‘’Well, dearest Ginevra, you do remember the reason I called you to the court, do you not?’’

‘’I don’t want to.’’

The King smiled and nodded. ‘’I know.’’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘’Why aren’t you threatening me?’’

‘’Did I not already do so?’’ he took a sip of his tea.

Green eyes and pale skin smeared with dried blood flashed through her mind.

‘’You bastard,’’ she hissed, slamming her hand down on the table. ‘’You-‘’

He smirked. ‘’My, my, my, Ginevra. If you want your lover to survive, shouldn’t you keep your pretty mouth shut, hmm?’’

She gritted her teeth, and clenched her fists, whirled around and stalked out of the room. It was all she could do not to reach for his throat and throttle him already.

No, she needed to plan his murder carefully if she wanted to succeed.

 

_She swore: No mercy,_

_I shall bear all pain,_

_I swear, no rest, no mercy,_

_‘Till the King has been slain._

* * *

He did not take well to her walking away from him- or maybe the King simply wanted to remind Ginny of what she would lose if she didn’t obey. He locked her up again.

‘’Tell me a story,’’ she begged the storyteller, ‘’Before I burst and begin to scratch away at the walls.’’

‘’As you wish, milady.’’

* * *

_A while ago, there were a King and Queen who had everything. A country full of people, a castle full of friends and kindness as overflowing as their health. Everything, but a child._

_Eventually, a prince was born and the entire country rejoiced._

_‘’Have you heard, have you heard?_

_Our fiery Queen gave birth,_

_She put a son, a healthy son,_

_Just like that, on earth!’’_

_Invitations were sent to all nobles in the country, from far and wide they came for the Prince’s christening. All were joyous, except for the Dark One. For he did not receive an invitation, though he ruled in the same country as the King of Magic._

_‘’They dare to doubt my power?’’ he roared, ‘I shall make them rue the day they crossed me! ’’_

_He stormed the castle with his men, where he challenged the King to a duel. But instead of aiming his spells at the King, he targeted the Prince’s cradle. The Queen flung herself in front of the green flash, shielding her child with her own body and dying instantly. Overcome with grief, the King hurled himself at the Dark One, but was slain by the same curse as his wife._ i _His corpse hit the floor- the sound reaching the child’s ears, prompting it to wail._

_The Dark One reached upwards, called his powers from the depths of the earth, and send the power of destruction through the baby._

_It did not die._

_Instead, the curse rebounded. The Dark One fell to his knees- grabbing his chest as he felt a piece of his soul leaving. The Queen had not been as powerless as he had thought- she did have a gift, one that granted her the ability to protect her child even after death._

_But the Dark King was powerful- the most Powerful of all. So the rebounding curse had not killed him. Instead, it had split his soul, half of it latching on to the Prince he had tried to murder. The King was now unable to kill the child unless he was willing to perish along with it._

_But the Dark One wished to be the King of the entire country- the crowning glory of his revenge. And that could not be unless the Prince was dead. So he tracked down every single document pertaining the Prince’s name and eradicated them, and banned his subjects from speaking the name. Eventually, when all was said and done, he even took the name from his own mind- forgetting it forever so not even he could tell the child his name._

_For names had power, and if the Prince were nameless, he might as well have been dead._

_The country believed the Prince’s heart had stopped beating in the cradle. The Dark One slew those who opposed him without a second thought and darkness reigned._

* * *

_The child grew up without a name, hidden away from the world. When he was old enough, the Dark One came for him. He led the child to the dungeons and put him in a cell._

_‘’No part of me,’’ said the Dark One to the child, ‘’Is not powerful. You carry half of my soul, you are half me, half your own. Therefore, I shall teach you everything I know. Almost everything, lest you become more powerful than I, or gain the power to escape. This is your place, you wretched being. You shall not see the light for the rest of your days.’’_

* * *

Ginny frowned and looked at the man sideways. ‘’The Prince didn’t believe he was a part of the Dark King, right?’’

Green eyes glinted sadly. ‘’He did believe him. For every night, he dreamed of his parent's murder, and his own mouth spoke the words for the curse, just as his own hands waved the wand that empowered him so.’’

Ginny gasped. ‘’That can’t be true. The Dark King… How could he do that to a child?!’’

‘’Are we both not here, now?’’ asked Green Eyes. ‘’I think that says enough.’’

Ginny clenched her fists, eyes wide in horror, as he continued the story.

* * *

_The child was taught politics, geography, history, science and all other studies one needed to succeed, even though he knew he never would, for he was nameless, dead in all but body._

_It was for this reason he was not taught magic. As long as nobody named him and fixed his being into existence, he was unable to use the noble art of enchantment._

_But one day, somebody did. The Dark One had chosen a bride- an unwilling girl-child that spit upon the ground he walked, refusing to worship it even when it endangered her own life._

_She christened the nameless Tale-spinner, Story-teller, Green-eyes. She made him a person, something more than the vessel of the Dark One’s soul. And he loved her for it, and she, over time, came love him too. It awakened his gift- the power to tell true stories, to see how everything came to be as it was. With glowing eyes he could watch events long gone by, the happenings slipping from his mouth in the shape of words._

_The Dark One was furious when he found out, but the Storyteller begged him not to hurt the girl. The Dark One regarded him with a calculating smirk. ‘’I see. This might just work. As long as I have you in my grasp, she won’t do a single thing, for I will wound you for every trespass she makes. She will marry me this Spring- if she displeases me, she will know the consequences.’’_

_He left the Story-teller behind with a sinking feeling in his stomach, for he knew now that his love was doomed._

* * *

They cried in each other’s arms that night.

_(‘’Your name,’’ she whispered to him, ‘’Is Harry.’’_

_And this time, she told him a story of a girl who loved tales more than anything. Whose heart broke when she found out the Prince was dead, and fell in love with a storyteller, though her heart still carried the name of a child dead before his first year._

_And he looked at her like she hung the moon, kissed her forehead and said, voice quivering: ‘’Then, for my sake as well your own, kill him.’’_ )

* * *

Ginny married the Dark King.

 

_A wedding, a royal wedding!_

_Get the flowers and fluff the bedding,_

_Clothe the bride in a dress so white,_

_She will blind them all like she is the light._

_Unwilling she might be,_

_But the Dark King none can flee,_

_Even though everyone but his men,_

_Want to escape his awful den!_

_Oh, the poor girl, the pitiful thing,_

_Around her finger, he slips his ring,_

_Carries her off with him in the night,_

_His touch upon her, a harrowing blight._

* * *

That night, Ginny made her move. Before the King knew what was going on, she tackled him onto the bed, straddling him, legs pinning his arms to his sides and holding the knife to his throat. It glinted in the torchlight. His skin was paper-thin- if she applied pressure, he _would_ die.

She held her hand steady.

The King was watching her calmly.  "You can’t kill me without killing him."

  
"You regard love as a weakness."  
  
"Is it not why I am still alive? Because my life is tied to his and I shall have all the power of the world over you as long as I have your beloved?"  
  
She laughed bitterly. "You don’t. He told me to kill you, even if it meant his own death."

  
He chuckled. "You would not-"

 She slit his throat.

"Dare..."  
  
Before morning came, his body was cold, and the new Queen was a widow.

* * *

The warden was the one who discovered the queen in her old prison. The door was open, light flooding the room for longer than it had done in years. There was a body on the floor- the corpse of a young man, whose face the warden never fully seen.

And there she was, the queen, sobbing into the dead man’s chest. Her scarlet hair was scattered over him like a shroud as she clutched at him, begging the gods to give him back.

He was a younger copy of King James, the only difference being the lifeless green orbs staring up at the ceiling.

The warden backed away and spread the word.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158705655@N07/38835592951/in/dateposted/)

* * *

 

_The King is dead, the King is dead,_

_The Queen killed him in the marriage bed!_

_The King is dead, and tears do brim,_

_But, oh, her tears are not for him._

_The King is dead, the Prince is gone,_

_And all of this, before the dawn._

_A new age coming, but magic knows,_

_What is to become of the weeping rose._

So the people sang.

* * *

Three days later, Ginny woke, wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood up with a spine of steel. Though her heart was broken, she was a queen now, and she had a duty to fulfill. She found her resolve and let it lead her- her mourning was best left for the night. So she stood before her subjects and replied with fury:

 

_I have not spend a single day,_

_Bonny and bright and merry and gay,_

_And though I am vicious as a viper,_

_I do not hurt, I am no sniper,_

_To all those who touch the stem._

_I have no thorns, I am no gem,_

_I do not bloom in blood,_

_I am not water, possess no flood,_

_I flower in winter but am no rose._

_If I must be anything, then I propose:_

_Call me fire, the throes of passion,_

_In my grief, I am ashen._

_But even then, still I burn,_

_Dance and change, at every turn,_

_Until I come undone,_

_And everything, everything,_

_is gone._

_I shall let you warm your hands,_

_All of you, on my lands,_

_Refuse to let you starve to death,_

_As long as I still possess a breath,_

_I shall be the fire of the stove,_

_Give everything in my treasure trove,_

_To feed my people dear._

_And if one day, a foe will knock,_

_On our gate, troops on the dock,_

_Then do know: I have killed a King,_

_Upon my hand, I bear his ring,_

_And I shan’t hesitate to do it again,_

_To protect my women and men._

_No more horrors you shall face,_

_This I swear, to the holy Grace._

_Let it be known to all of the lands:_

_This country is once again in our hands!_

 

Ginny journeyed to the Dark Court, and before the eyes of her people, she drove the Sword into the Stone. ‘’The one who pulls this sword from the stone and anvil, shall be the rightful heir of my throne, servant of the people.’’

She ruled for many years, proudly bearing the name of Arthur’s line. Because though she was not descended from the King of old, her father was called Arthur, and there was no shame to be found in bearing the name of kind man.

She never wedded another, and spend her days creating a country where the horrors she had grown up with were nothing but tales to the children.

_And when the time came,_

_For her to say goodbye,_

_To wait for the flame,_

_Of her life to die._

_The storyteller, the Prince,_

_The man with glowing eyes,_

_Young and ripe as quince,_

_A departed soul in human guise,_

_Eyes green as fir,_

_Stood at her bed,_

_And asked her,_

_To tell her best story yet._

_She beamed at him,_

_And took his hand,_

_Cherished the limb,_

_Her love grand._

_Her soul slipped from her bones,_

_Shrugging them off like a cloak,_

_Losing all her earthly tones,_

_And then they rose with the smoke._

_Finally, together._

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> This story was quite something! I edited out about 1k of clutter words, unnecessary additions that interrupted the story and tweaked so much that I swear I rewrote the first draft about two and a half times. But it’s here! I’m proud of it, actually. But do tell me if anything is not clear- I have the tendency to sort of ‘’hide’’ the clues in my stories because I don’t want to spoil everything, but sometimes that goes too far and it’s not clear what exactly is happening anymore.
> 
> The story was inspired by the song ‘’Castle’’ by Halsey. Daniel in the Den by Bastille also fit the tone of it pretty well in my opinion, but I’m not sure in what measure that actually inspired me.
> 
> The part where Ginny talks about Charlie ‘’liking horses more than women,’’ is based on a quote by JK Rowling. Someone once asked if Charlie was gay, to which her answer was that he was not, just ‘’more interested in dragons than women.’’. This led to the belief that Charlie is an aromantic asexual, though this was never stated outright. I choose to believe, though!
> 
> There was an alternate ending, in which, instead of describing Ginny’s death, I had a poem from the point of view of the people in the land long after she died. I didn’t use it in the story in the end, but in case anyone is curious, here it is:
> 
> The green-eyed story-teller,  
> Lonely in his cell,  
> Imprisoned beneath the wine cellar,  
> The dungeon where the wronged dwell,  
> Silent in their sleep.
> 
> He spins tales like a spider,  
> Spins the silk for its web,  
> The gap may seem much wider,  
> But watch the tide, wait for ebb,  
> And see; it's all connected.
> 
> A future queen lost her heart,  
> To the broken man,  
> But forced to be apart,  
> For she had to save her clan,  
> By giving the King her hand.
> 
> To this day, we tell the stories,  
> The story-teller spoke,  
> To the queen of all these territories,  
> whose love he did invoke,  
> And love them dearly, both. 
> 
> I originally didn't plan to let Harry die, but when I got to that point, I realised I couldn't bring myself to do anything else. It felt like a betrayal to the stories topic to end it differently. Because while this is very much a story about two people and their relationship, Ginny was first and foremost my protagonist. And I wanted to give her a happy ending, I really did, but what I love about Ginny is this: She's strong, without stopping being human or a woman. When Harry was on the run she didn't go cry in the corner- she rescued Hogwarts students and led a resistance with Neville. And that was what I wanted to show: someone human, someone who could break, but had the ability to stand up and fight time and time again. I hope I succeeded in delivering that message.
> 
> Edit: Pottermum mentioned I could do an alternate ending so I wouldn't stop Ginny's story, but still get the happy ending! I'm currently considering at which point the alternate ending will start. It will be published as a second chapter to this story! It will feature the Sorceress Hermione, who is quite miffed that Sir Ronald keeps calling her a Witch, which really does not help his sisters case. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and constructive criticism is always welcome! 
> 
> Love, Blue


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